“Did—were you—” Alaric faltered, each word laboriously plucked out from his stupor. “Did you think that I … would strike you?” Talasyn remained silent a beat too long. Long enough for him to confirm that her answer, though unspoken, was yes. “I wouldn’t—” He hit the floor on his knees and shuffled toward her. She straightened up with the intention of nudging him to do so as well, but he flung his arms around her waist. “Tala, I would never”—he buried his face in her midsection—“never when we’re not sparring,” he said fiercely. “Never when I’m drunk, never in our room—” “I know.” She carded her fingers through his soft hair, in a tentative attempt to soothe him.” HeartacheAlaricTalasynTalaDrunk Alaric Book:A Monsoon Rising Source: A Monsoon Rising